


I Can Wait

by Imladris_Riven



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Betrayal, Declarations Of Love, Deleted Scenes, Desolation of Smaug, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Love/Hate, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-07 04:58:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3162125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imladris_Riven/pseuds/Imladris_Riven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Mirkwood elves are less wise and more dangerous.' Thorin Oakenshield knew that first-hand. Now Thranduil's prisoner, Thorin will do whatever it takes to free his company. But things take an unexpected turn and Thorin's left wondering how in the name of Eru did he end up in this position. Literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zoe_Perdita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoe_Perdita/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR. I just have an unnatural obsession with Thranduil and his fabulous hair.

**_Mirkwood elves are less wise and more dangerous._ **

Thorin Oakenshield knew that first-hand.

He was stood now before the Elvenking’s throne, silent but angry, with spider webs strewn in his long, straggly hair. Thranduil dared not face Thorin. His back was to the dwarf, body calming after another of his outbursts. At first, Thorin had resisted his woodland captors. Naturally the last thing he wanted to do was to run into _elves_ on his way to the Misty Mountains. But then the elves stripped the company of their weapons and, apart from Thorin, tossed them (none too gently) into the dungeons.

But right now, Thorin was exhausted. _Imprisoned_ , at that rate, and wanted nothing more than to eat, sleep and face the havoc on the morrow. He knew that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Not with the King of Mirkwood interrogating him, and denying Thorin the right to eat. Until Thorin answered the elf's unrelenting questions, food was prohibited.

Thranduil's voice dragged Thorin from his train of thought, and echoed through the halls surrounding them. "Some may imagine that a noble quest is at hand,” he said, coldly. "A quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon.”

Bile rose in Thorin's stomach. The Elvenking's voice made Thorin want to be sick. He was unable to look up. To think that this elf, thought Thorin, this proud king standing next to him had once been Thorin’s lover! Back when Erebor remained at its ultimate glory, Thorin had held Thranduil timelessly in his arms. One of many memories that, in Thorin's youth, had once washed over Thorin in waves of blissful giddiness. But now it brought nothing but hatred. Betrayal stabbed at his heart, again and again; a wound subsequent to Thranduil’s desertion when he needed him the most. 

Even if Thranduil _did_ define the utmost allure of an elvenking, Thorin would sooner snap his neck than yield to his warmth ever again. 

When at last Thranduil turned around to face his prisoner, his graceful expression told Thorin nothing of what the elf was thinking. A trick that Thranduil was masterful at. Try as he might, Thorin could never tell what went on inside that elf's head. The elfvenking began to approach the dwarf at a leisurely pace, and his sparkling blue eyes shone with wicked austerity.

“I, myself, suspect a more prosaic motive,” he resumed, “attempted burglary or something of that ilk.” 

The Elvenking bent down and for a moment peered into the dwarf’s face, as if stripping him bare of his darkest secrets.

“You have found a way in,” Thranduil whispered into his ear, his breath fanning down Thorin’s cheek. “You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule. The king’s jewel. The Arkenstone.” Thorin’s eyes darted to the floor, tortured desires piercing through his mind. Thranduil swept backwards to his throne. ”It is precious to you beyond measure, I understand that. There are gems that I, too, desire. _White_ gems of pure starlight.” 

Thorin peeled his eyes away from the floor, and glared up at Thranduil.

“I offer you my help,” Thranduil continued, bowing his head with such sincerity that it made Thorin want to laugh.

“I am listening,” Thorin rumbled, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

“I will let you go, if you but return what is mine.” Thranduil’s voice was no longer graceful; it’d turned cold and sour, more of an order than anything else. 

Thorin grunted and turned around, wherein he approached the lip of the dais. “A favour for a favour . . ." He let the words dance across his tongue. 

“You have my word,” Thranduil whispered from behind him. “One king to another.” 

Suddenly, Thorin’s anger flooded through him and his hands shook with rage. Nevertheless, he was silent a moment longer, as he sneered upon Thranduil’s people daring to speculate through holes in the cave. Then, with his anger escalating within him like a storm, he said: “I would not trust Thranduil, the Great _King_ , to honour his word should the end of all days be upon us!” Spittle sprayed the air as Thorin spun around and flung his hands into Thranduil’s stunned face. “You, lack all honour! I have seen how you treat your _friends_! We came to you once, starving, homeless, seeking your help, but you turned your _back_ ,” Thorin spat, his voice shaking with anger. “You turned away from the suffering of _my_ people and the inferno that destroyed us! May you die in dragon fire!” 

Thranduil leapt towards Thorin like a tiger unto its prey.

"Do not talk to me of dragon fire! I know its wrath and ruin!” Suddenly, Thranduil’s eyes closed and his face contorted. Pain and torture appeared. His flesh melted away from his cheek like molten lava, leaving nothing but scarred tissue and burns. “I have faced the great serpents of the _North_!”

Thranduil’s eyes shot open in a blaze, and for the first time ever, Thorin saw his pain unmasked; Thranduil’s left eye, colourless and blind, penetrated the dwarf in more ways than he would’ve liked.

Thorin's heart clenched in his throat, words incoveivable. 

Then Thranduil stepped back, as if Thorin were a rotting corpse, and his incantation covered his wound like an invisible cord. 

“I warned your grandfather of what his greed would summon, but he would not listen.” Thorin watched in stunned silence as Thranduil climbed the stairs to his throne, one step at a time. “You are just like him.” Thranduil waved his hand and two guards appeared out of nowhere, grabbing Thorin by his shoulders. “Stay here if you will and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in a life of an elf. I am patient. I can wait.” 

The guards hauled Thorin down the passage like an animal, and then tossed him into the dungeons. The Elvenking smirked and sank down onto his throne, the lights above bathing him in a silver hue, and folded his legs.

Soon, he would make Thorin kneel before him yet. For despite the Dwarven King’s lust for vengeance, war was upon him and Thorin would need his help. 

And this time, Thranduil would answer it. 

He would be Thorin’s ally.

He would reclaim his lover’s heart, at _all_ costs.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin's been summoned to the king's chamber like some lousy dog. And now he's about to be blackmailed into some sexy-time.

Thorin awoke to starlight in his eyes. Then he realised it wasn’t. It was just one of the guards beaming a lantern into his face.

“Arise now, Dwarf Lord; the Elvenking awaits you.”

Thorin’s expression contorted, and he swung his hand out and smacked the light from the guard’s hand, sending the glass shattering against the stone wall.

“And why should I, son of Thrain, son of Thror, rise with the light of Morgoth bleeding into my eyes?”  

 “Because your master wishes to see you,” the guard laughed, matter-of-factly. “Now be gone from this dungeon and unto his chamber, lest you want to anger the king even more?”

The guard stepped aside, waiting for Thorin to rise, but Thorin didn’t. The dwarf adjusted his sky-blue hood over his broad shoulders, pulled leisurely at his sleeves and tassel, before at last he stood up. He was, to his relief, not held in throngs like he had been before, and thus was less inclined to be in that of a foul mood; now that he’d eaten and was granted food and sleep. 

But it didn’t make him any less grumpy.

He stomped after the despicably tall guard and followed in silence. He knew any further resistance would be futile. Still. When they reached Dwalin’s dungeon some moments later, the dwarf thrust out his hand from between the metal bars and grasped the guard’s cape. A cluster of elves ushered to the guard’s side, bows at the ready; but Dwalin merely laughed in their faces.

“I will sooner rip the tongue from that pretty face of yours, laddie, should you dishonour my king like that again! Have that as yer fair warning.”

Kili and Fili burst into laughter from the dungeon below. Thorin immediately barked in Dwarvish for them to remain quiet, and then followed the sullen guard up the paths twisting throughout the shadowy cave. Red lights shone above them. Paths of wood joined and curved so many times that if Thorin looked any longer they would start to make him feel nauseous. _Everything_ looked the same to Thorin; paths carved into wooden branches, pine and ash devouring the walls, redwood briars, elven designs, endless corridors coiling like a maze.

Perhaps, just maybe, thought Thorin, the foolish guard would get himself lost deep within the bracken. Surely it all looked of same to _him_ , too? Bland walls. Bland lights. Bland floors. It was nothing like Erebor had been in its glory, or Moria, or _any_ Dwarven kingdom, for that matter. Thranduil had taste but it was not to Thorin’s liking. Too dark. Dim. _Empty_ , thought Thorin, despite its vast occupants spying through holes in the cave.

If, and it was a small if, the elf became slightly disorientated, despite the impossibility of it (because really, how in the name of Eru would that ever happen?), Thorin could make his move, could he not?

Aye, he would!

\- Desperation was clinging to him -

He would sneak into the dungeons unseen, and he would, he would . . . Thorin inwardly shook his head. What would _he_ do in a kingdom full of elves?  Impale their heads willingly, yes, but in truth Thorin knew that he’d no choice but to run to the king’s beck and call like some chea _dog_.  

The dwarf and elf climbed a series of freshly mown steps leading to the king's chamber. Crystal lights surrounded it; flowers and red berries adorning the walls. The guard stopped just short of two sapphire doors, where music played on the other side. Standing in front of the granite entrance, Thorin felt like a spider brought forth to the black gates of Mordor.  

It was there that the guard left him to stare blankly at the wooden doors.

 _Thranduil_.

Thorin reached for the door handle (for the fourth time, to be exact) but again he yanked his arm back. Why was _he_ , Thorin Oakenshield, Lost King Under the Mountain, running to the traitor’s side like a sheep plunging into the claws of a wolf? Ah, to doom with it! He would not yield Thranduil's mind games.

Suddenly infuriated, Thorin turned on his heel and made his way towards the end of the corridor, but the sound of Thranduil’s voice, cold and resonating, sent shivers down Thorin's spine.

“Why do you linger beyond the shadow of my doors, Thorin? It is not like you. I do not bite."

Thorin’s face hardened. Had Thranduil known he was there the whole time? Thorin thrust open the door and stepped over the threshold. He wasn’t even fully inside yet when suddenly the memories came flooding back to him. Everything, from the ceiling down to the floor, was as clear to Thorin’s mind as it had been that day. The gold pillars supporting the ridiculously high ceiling, where Thorin had once tied Thranduil to. The emerald tiles rippling like water with his every step, where Thorin had once tied Thranduil to. Even the patio doors, dark-crimson and silver, robed with green curtains that fluttered in the wind, looked exactly as they did over a century ago.

And the bed. Good Mahal _, the bed!_ A rich hue of sun-like fabrics laden with silks beyond Thorin's measure, where Thorin had also once tied Thranduil . . . Thorin gritted his teeth and walked towards the back room, where he knew Thranduil lay in his pool.

And much to his displeasure, he was.

Naked.

Wet.

Waiting on him.

Thorin cleared his throat and held his head high: he would not let Thranduil’s nakedness dissuade him.

“That was quite the welcome you had me there,” Thorin grumbled as he approached the steamy water. Thranduil’s back was to him, and though he looked as graceful as ever, his shoulders were bunched, tensed, leaning against the edge of the pool. Petals floated around him and the smell of salt and lavender was sharp on Thorin’s tongue. “Might I enquire why you summoned me to your side like some lousy dog? I have been interrogated enough, have I not?”

Thranduil grinned and looked up at Thorin through hooded eyes. His cheeks were slightly flushed with steam and no doubt expensive wine, thought Thorin. “I desire you to join me, Thorin. Two kings taking a dip in the pool.” He raised his glass of wine and held it up to the lights as if examining it. “Surely there is no harm in that?”

“And if I say no?”

“Then food shall be prohibited to Thorin and company for a further two weeks. But if you say yes, and hear what it is I have to say, then never shall you go hungry again.” Thranduil turned and gazed out the window at the bottom of the pool. Thorin could see the elf's reflection through the glass; his eyes were shut and the effect of the water danced across his face in waves of silver. “I can assure you that.”

Thorin still didn’t move. Though his breath had hardened, and his groin ached below his tassel, he refused to obey the Elvenking. “If you think for a second that I would touch the skin of a traitor then you are sorely mistaken, _Great Elvenking_.”

Thorin watched Thranduil’s face wince in the glass, his eyes crunched tight. “Thorin. I beseech you. Hear what it is I have to say, at least for a moment?” 

Thorin paused. Why in the name of Aule was Thranduil pulling such an expression?

Suddenly, Thorin’s cock wanted to rid the elf of his torment, but his heart felt otherwise. It practically wanted to spew out from his mouth at the mere mentioning of betrayal.

But if he didn’t obey the elf, then Thorin’s company would be jeopardised even more. Thorin was no imbecile. Thranduil would starve them, and Eru knew what else he was willing to do to get his own way. Blackmail? Hmph. How very becoming of Thranduil. Then again, he expected nothing less.

After a moment, Thorin gracelessly stomped towards the elf. Thranduil’s eyes opened and a faint smile tugged at his lips. Thorin scowled at him, despite the racing of his beating heart.

“You can undress here, if you wish. There is no need for privacy. Not when you have held me in almost every inch of this chamber.”

Heat flooded the dwarf’s cheeks as he swung around and faced the wall. He stood for a moment still, fruitlessly contemplating his next move, but he knew there was no other option than to pacify the elf. At least until a time he could think of a better escape.

This time, there was nothing else for it.

Thorin’s deft hands sought his hood and dropped it to the floor. Then the buttons. The tassel. The belt. His boots and pants. All the while Thranduil sat silently in his pool, not saying a single word. In a flush of movements, Thorin’s clothes lay in a puddle at his feet, and he was completely naked. And aroused. Deeply – _mind-numbingly_ – aroused.

“I will admit," groaned Thranduil, "this sight is one which I have yearned for a long time. Turn around.”

Thorin bit his lip and then slowly turned around. Thranduil’s cold, calculating eyes were locked on Thorin's, a smirk threatening his lips, and his hands where nowhere to be seen. It took Thorin a moment to realise Thranduil was pleasuring himself below the water.

Thorin’s eyes narrowed as he stepped into the pool. He found himself gulping nervously as he allowed the petals and water to submerge him.

“Quite the place for a second dish of interrogation,” Thorin grumbled, his wet hair curling around his biceps. “Though different from before, one might say.”

“I bestow a variety of means for interrogation, Thorin. Some of which are rather . . . peculiar.” Thranduil smirked and placed his arms on the edge of the pool. “But know this now: tonight you are unmasked. You are under no obligation to defend yourself here. My guards are nowhere to be seen and nor are your men. I simply want to speak with you. To uncover why exactly it is now you wish to destroy the nest of Smaug, of all wretched times? That is all I desire to know. I will not torture you into telling me, but I am, however, patient enough to lock you in my dungeon until you feel inclined to tell me otherwise. Besides, having you in my kingdom is something that I have wished upon for decades. I am not the one losing out here. As I said before, I am patient. I can wait. But either way I must know the reason for your passing.”

Thorin scowled up at Thranduil, his cheeks flushing with rage. “From one king to another?”

Thranduil paled, then closed his eyes and nodded. “Your words will go no further, nor will my hands.” Thranduil lifted his hands, a symbol of his resistance. Thorin smirked and when he spoke his voice was low and gruff.   

 “Surely you did not think that I would believe you brought me here simply as part of your interrogation? If that were the case, then I must say that I am a little disappointed, Great Elvenking.”

“How so, Dwarf Lord?” Thranduil’s voice was just as controlled as Thorin’s. If not icier.

“Well, for instance: there are no guards here to pin me down while you take me from behind. That is something I would have expected from a treacherous and desperate leech such as your fine self.”

The Elvenking’s jaw tightened, but he held his composure. “I can assure you that is not in my nature. Though,” –blue eyes pierced through Thorin’s skull– “I would be lying if I said that I did not _want_ to. Now, shall we continue this over some Dorwinion? If I recall correctly, you had a particular interest in our autumn vintage, did you not?”

Thorin didn’t answer, but gave a tight nod of his head. He’d be lying if said he didn’t _want_ the wine . . . or Thranduil, for that matter. But Thorin would need to be wise tonight. Whatever decision made would have his mens' best interest at heart. He had to focus on his hate, his betrayal, his . . .

Thranduil stood up from the pool and walked towards the bedroom. Wet hair clung to his body like leaves soaked in rain, and his glorious, tight ass swung lusciously from side to side, causing Thorin’s mouth to dry, and cock to twitch.

That wretched elf was playing a foul game, thought Thorin miserably.

He watched Thranduil lean carelessly against the wooden dresser, shamelessly exploiting himself to Thorin like an opened book, as he reached for two goblets.

A foul game, indeed . . . 

Thorin smirked and stood up from the pool also. It was about time he taught Thranduil a lesson in mannerisms. Or rather, how not to seduce a Dwarf Lord who wants to rip your throat out . . . and also fuck you senseless. Either way, it was Thranduil's turn to be punished.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take an unexpected turn and Thorin's left wondering how the hell he ended up in this position. Literally.

Thorin wasn’t sure what was worse: the fact that he was being seduced by Thranduil or the fact that he _wanted_ to be.

Water dripped down his chest and to the floor as he approached the elf. Thranduil, splayed nakedly across the elven dresser, looked up at Thorin through hooded eyes; a smirk pulling at his lips.

Thorin scowled at him, his hands shot out, and deft fingertips dug into the king’s narrow waist.

“Is this what you want, elf?” He thrust his hips forward and rubbed his cock against Thranduil’s hip. “Is this why you bound me needlessly to the cold air of your chamber – _this_?”

His cock was already rock-hard and he could tell by Thranduil’s sharp intake of breath that his was too.

“Yes . . .” Thranduil gasped, hands digging into the bedroom dresser, elbows nudging the bottle of Dorwinion.

Now _this_ , this Thorin could work with. Having Thranduil begging his own prisoner didn’t seem like quite the bad idea. Or at least, it wasn’t Thorin’s _worst_ idea, considering.

“Tell me what you seek, elf. If it is to touch you then I want to hear you begging me for it. I shall not lay a finger on you otherwise.”

Thorin drank in how deeply crimson the elf turned at the mere mentioning of begging. Thorin smirked, the beast within him silently contemptuous, as he watched Thranduil squirm below him.

But there was no sign of Thranduil begging Thorin anytime soon.

Thorin would have to resort to plan B.

He swung around and approached the bed. Below it, there was a white drawer which he pulled out. To his utter relief, Thorin’s equipment was still where he left it a century ago. Strange. He retrieved a long, leather whip and rope, then he tied Thranduil to the cloak hangers dangling from the ceiling. Slowly, he steeped the whip in a bowl of autumn wine – Thranduil’s eyes averted from him, at all times, like a good little pet – and then after a moment he cracked the leather against Thranduil’s hip; the alcohol licking up and around his chest. 

Thranduil gasped, but still said nothing. Thorin whipped him another two times – right across his ass, where he liked it best. The alcohol seemed into his wounds.

“I will applaud your defiance, Elvenking: even when I wish it not you still surprise me. But how long can you withstand this?”

“Stand – what?” Thranduil hissed, his back arched as he dangled from the ceiling. The fact that he was facing the window didn’t seem to be distressing him as much as Thorin would’ve liked.

Pity.

“Dare you lie to me when your body feels my punishment so well?” Thorin swung Thranduil around so he was forced to face him, back to the window, and grabbed Thranduil’s weeping cock. “I. Said. Beg. Me.”

Thranduil’s face flushed pink and for a second Thorin thought he’d dare oppose him again, but after a moment, Thranduil’s lips parted, his breath shallow, and the words that followed came out barely as a whisper.

“Please, Thorin. . . touch me.”

His eyes were heavy, with lust, and damn if Thorin didn’t feel aroused looking into them. But he quickly checked himself. He was allowed to feel aroused at the sight of Thranduil begging him – that was all.

He reached up and untied Thranduil from the metal hooks. Thranduil sank down against the dresser, and for a ludicrous moment he thought Thranduil was going to kiss him, but the dwarf quickly fixed that.

“Face the wall,” Thorin grumbled, arms folded across his chest. “And tell me again you want me to touch you.”

Thranduil turned and faced the wall, but Thorin didn’t want him to face _that_ wall. In a series of movements, he steered Thranduil to the desk opposite the pool, where a portrait of his father, Oropher, hung on the wall. Thorin tilted Thranduil's head so he was forced to look at it.

“Say it.”

Thranduil’s shoulders bunched and his head drooped, arms trembling as he held onto the desk with all his might. His father’s face, grim on a dull summer’s eve, stared back at him whilst Thorin breathed down his neck.

“ _Please_! I want you to touch me.”

He didn’t need to ask twice. Thorin eagerly slipped a finger inside Thranduil and began the intrusion. The oil from their bath soaked onto Thorin’s hand, as well as a gallons worth of Thranduil's precome.

“Now what?”

“More,” Thranduil panted, ears purple as he faced his father’s portrait. “Faster. _Harder_!”

Thorin complied and added another finger, his cock rigid as it rubbed against Thranduil’s thighs.

 “ _Ah_!” Thranduil sank down onto the desk, completely exposing himself. “Ngghh!”

Thorin smirked. “Now this time, I want you to beg me to fuck you while you stare into the eyes of your forebears. I want them to see how lewd you are. I want them to see _you_ as you truly are.”

Thranduil froze, his ass clenching around Thorin’s fingers. A silence fell between them, one which neither of them seemed eager to break.

Thorin was hitting a sore spot, he knew that, and damn was he relishing in it! Thranduil had always had a complex regarding his sexual tendencies. Dark desires, often elicited by severe humiliation – a height which only Thorin seemed to deliver - was Thranduil's biggest secret. But the exposure of such wanton ridicule had always been Thranduil’s greatest desire and nobody, apart from Thorin, knew of what was at the forefront of Thranduil masochistic mind. Knew that he _wanted_ to be tortured.

Thinking of the night Thranduil told Thorin this, of his deepest desires, shame and lust, roused anger in the dwarf’s heart. A memory, once fond like the rest of them, had become twisted and bitter. Quickly, Thorin retrieved his fingers from the elf and stepped back. Since Thranduil was bent over the wooden desk, Thorin’s shadow loomed above him by a few inches and the candles flickering above gave the dwarf a menacing aura.

But Thorin didn’t stay standing like that for long. Of a sudden, he was angry. Blood pumping through his veins angry. His heart now wanting to erupt through his chest, Thorin stepped forward again; only this time, his hand grabbed Thranduil by his neck, swung him around and pinned him over the bed.

“What are you doing?” Thranduil tried to face Thorin, but the dwarf merely held him still; pushing his face into the sunflower bedding with unfathomable strength. “Thorin – stop!”

But Thorin didn’t stop. His cock was already deep inside Thranduil. Pulsating, alive, it slammed into Thranduil at a vengeful pace. Thorin’s voice came out in ragged gasps as he plunged deeper into the elf, not caring about the suddenness of the intrusion.

“Hard and fast is what you seek!” Thorin spat, his cock twitching inside Thranduil. “That is what you yearn for! Not me, nor my touch; but my wrath – a game this is to you while my people suffer! Ere – have – you – _longed_ for my touch, have you not? Do not lie to me, Thranduil! You did not bring me here for subtle kisses or moonlight walks. _This_ is what you want. Humiliation, pain and suffering. You care not of what my people endured! While you sought the comfort of your realm, my people seek still the shelter from the inferno that destroyed us, and for that I shall never forgive nor willingly hold you again – _Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul*_!”

“ _I said enough_!” Thranduil thundered over Thorin, his voice soliciting but falling to deaf ears. “Thorin, you do not know of what happened . . . what I went through . . . what - what toll it took . . .” For a moment, Thranduil’s blue eyes were pleading. Unmasked and vulnerable, he cranked his neck to look up at Thorin through bleary eyes, but Thorin’s face was scarlet with rage and contempt.

Sweat and spittle sprayed the air. Thorin's chest heaved against Thranduil’s trembling and wilted back, his hair was knotted between Thorin’s fingers. Thranduil’s hair . . . Thorin didn’t even realise he’d taken the elf’s hair into his hands, but by the Gods did he want to rip it from his skull!

But then quite suddenly, calmness washed over him. Like winter rain leaving the treacherous seas of Middle-earth, Thorin could see again. See the extent of his rage. See what type of monster, untamed, with which Thranduil had turned him into.  

With his cock still deep inside the elf, though flaccid with revulsion, Thorin realised what he’d almost become; and the realisation, the mental image of fear flashing in Thranduil’s eyes, made him want to be sick.

It was like he were his a replica of his father. As if he were a young dwarf stumbling upon his father's chamber again, to which he witnessed the years of angst his father had unleashed upon a poor servant’s body; and how helpless, disgusted and hideously aroused Thorin had felt at that time. Thorin wanted to be sick.

When did he pull out from Thranduil? He could not recall. One moment he was stood panting above the elf, realisation and fear dawning on him, and then the next he was on the bed looking up at Thranduil through gaping eyes.

“You have indulged in your games far enough, Thorin.” Something dark overrode the elf's features, but despite his best efforts, Thorin could still feel the hurt radiating from him as if it were his own being. “Now it is _my_ turn to show you the extent of _my_ wrath!” The elf’s delicate fingers slipped around Thorin’s neck, his legs straddling the dwarf’s waist. “Too long have you pinned me as the evil doer of your misgivings. Yes, I had betrayed you. Yes, I had abandoned you. But my people were suffering as it was, and I did not wish upon them even more ruin . . . As a king, can you not see the reason for my sacrilege? Tonight I had planned things to turn out differently, for the sake of old time, I had foreseen, but you chose it not and have elected me with no other choice than to take you by force.” Thranduil’s chest heaved as he mounted Thorin's cock, his hands tight around the dwarf's throat. “Do you not see that I have yearned for you every night until I lay withered upon these sheets alone and dejected, blaming myself tirelessly for your ill demise? Yet be that as it may, if this is to be my first and last time holding you, Thorin, then tonight I shall do so and perhaps then I will be able to release you from my wretched heart. _Le melin**_ , Dwarf Lord; if it easier then you may close your eyes.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - I spit upon your grave in Dwarvish 
> 
> ** = I love you in Elvish

**Author's Note:**

> Thorin and Thranduil alone in the king's chamber . . . a lot of sexy time to follow in the coming chapters! If you like it then please let me know :-) Imladris.


End file.
